


The Anomalia of Water

by CafeLeningrad



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Pact with the gods, Revenge, Theon still has issues, Throbb Secret Santa 2017, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CafeLeningrad/pseuds/CafeLeningrad
Summary: Secret Santa 2017 for Iron_Dragon_Maiden!For the assignment of Theon travelling back in time to save his loved one but for a pact demanding a price possibly too high to pay.





	The Anomalia of Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iron_Dragon_Maiden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_Dragon_Maiden/gifts).



> For this year I received many intriguing challenges but I probably sank my teeeth in the hardest nut. I sincerely apologize for my delay. Between Christmas stress, and editing I decided to let this work unfold in multiple chapters. Too many ideas to squeeze in one text and writing time. I hoope it matches you taste. (I affirm that some of the demanded plot aspects will appear later ;)) (And sorry, I'm am unhappy with myself how I fail at writing Aeron)

### First Chapter - Seagull

His mind was a cloud. Heavy. Bursting open.  
Images lapped one over another, shapes morphing into the next. Colours fading quicker, grey to white, faint blue, white, dark. Snow in the night.  
Where was he?  
He felt warm. It seemed years ago he truly felt warm. Under the skin, to the bone. Wrapped in a blanket, not just his cloak unbendable from a crust of ice over it. The ground beneath him moved, rocking softly, like in a boat. Surreal…  
They said death by cold was peaceful, warming you until you smiled. It’s just a fever dream. Theon thought in haze I’m going mad. He sighed and pressed his hands on his face. Fingers pressing on his front.  
...His fingers.  
Theon jolted from his bed, starring down to his fingers. Moved them. Skin gliding over knuckles. Five fingers on each hand.  
Ten fingers.  
It must be fever.  
Following an impulse he wiggled his toes. An odd, odd, bewildering sense shot though his body. Up from his fingertips Theon’s stare dropped down to his feet. In disbelief he bent down till his finger tips pressed upon skin, muscle sinking to hard bone. Like wings his five fingered hand flapped open. Each finger tip pressed upon the toes, all sensing a bone beneath the flesh. Fingers slip up the foot. Bones connected to each other, one piece to another. All of the sudden Theon felt himself being all meat, all blood. The echo of his own heart thrummed steadily against his ribs. He put his hand on his chest and felt it beating slightly. The thrumming echoed in his ear. Like in trance he weighed into a flowing movement, all too aware of his substance. His hands sensed so much, too much.  
Fingers raking through his hair. It felt smooth like silk, not brittle. A short pain spiked on his scalp when he pulled out a hair, and held it before his eyes. Raven black, not grey.  
Theon opened his eyes again. If he looked up, he would find himself in Castle Black, huddled in his cloak, bedded on straw. Skin too frozen to feel anything. It was a world of snow and night. A world without Asha. A world in which he had scars. What a pleasant dream, to have al fingers and toes to dance with a sword in his hand, to pull a bowstring.  
Here I am, alone again. And lost. We are all lost.  
But… the last, little mad part of his blood stilled begged to walk on. I’ve lived through so much, to let my life slip out of life again. Even though he, and the very last fighters with him, trebled at the sight of the burning blue eyes behind the fires.  
With grim Theon rolled to the side, bare feet landing… on wood.

He jolted again, wildly looking around. Again Theon felt the ground rocking smoothly. Look down on himself again, Theon saw his body was unscarred. Moving fingers and toes. Utter bewilderment took over his feeling but his mind raced. Could this be real?  
Him, unharmed, in a place of warmth… “Am I dead?”  
With thousands of questions in his head, Theon tried to recognize where he was. All wood, a rocking floor. The smell of salt? The sea?  
He saw a door, stepped through it. Sun light spilt into his eyes. Under his bare feet he felt wood. In his ears echoed the cries of seagulls, and the silent roar of waves breaking against a ship. His eyes beheld the sight, the sky, a thin line of purple line at the horizon fading into cobalt blue. The first star constellation blinked from above.  
“Mylord?” Sailors were busy on deck, tying ropes, some looking at Theon then quickly turning their look down again. “Mylord?” Theon knew this ship. Judging by the size, and build… a tradesman’s ship. Long time ago he’s been on a tradesman’s ship.  
“Mylord?” A woman’s voice interrupted his thoughts. To his side he saw a young woman, a bit too chubby for his taste though. She looked fairly familiar. Holding her head like a shy dear, she asked: “Mylord, my father asked if you’re feeling alright. You slept all day.”  
Slowly Theon blinked down to her. Round face, her eyes shining a bit too bright when she spoke to him. A long time ago, some years ago, he fucked a girl like her on a tradesman’s ship.  
“Where are we?” he asked. Her smile faltered a bit, as if insecurity clouded her mind.  
“We… we are five days before Pyke. We left Seagard yesterday morning.” A long time ago, he had fucked a naïve, chubby girl on thensea way to Pyke, on a tradesman’s ship. She’d been the captain’s daughter. A long time ago he had sailed to Pyke from Seagard. His head spun. “Too much wine…” Theon mumbled. A vague memory of him and Patrek Mallister sipping wine… or beer?  
“Are you feelings sick?” she asked, hand on his upper arm.  
“Something like that.” Theon grumbled, still blinking around trying to make out shades and colours. “Have to go back. Bring a soup.”  
That commanded, he stumbled away from her. Back towards the door, vision shaking. Body slacking into the bed. Again he closed his eyes. Shut them hard. Nonetheless his skin prickled from sensing soft blankets around him, selling salt, the boat still rocking. Theon opened his eyes.  
His heart and mind were racing.  
The mind can lie, the body can’t.   
All of this was real, his body was real, he could feel it. Not able to deny of these sensations with his senses. All his body sang from blood flowing in his veins, muscles full and hard. All limbs together.  
Here he lay, no scars, on his way to Pyke. Was he dead? In a carefree afterlife? If so, the reward for happiness was not that much of his type. Or was that boring woman a sign for his way to hell? I’ve already gone to hell. Horrible memories flashed before his eyes. A hell without toes and fingers. Without his skin. In which he had begged to die when he lay to gods’ roots. The leaves had whispered his name. And he had begged to lay with Robb.  
Robb?!  
For the third time on this day Theon jolted upwards. Thoughts untangled but too loudly throbbing in his mind.  
If all of that was all real… the girl had called him “Mylord”… all limbs attached to his body… parted from Seagardo... to Pyke. Once he had sialed to Pyke from Seagard, as men with all limbs. An idea ran through him, Theon looked around, spotting his belongings. He grabbed into his bag. He sensed parchment and pulled out a parchment roll, he saw the silver seal in which a dire wolf’s was imprinted. His heart beat heavily against his chest. Before he even realized what he did, the seal and he read words in a handwriting well known. Robb, King in the North, promised Lord Balon Greyjoy a crown in return for his fleet. A dry smile formed on Theo’s lips. Balon would reject this offer, and order the Iron fleet-  
But really? How could he know?  
He hadn’t even arrived in Pyke yet. So all would be a bad dream? The fleet would be found in Pyke although not for Robb Stark. His father’s dismissal, the conquest of Winterfell, Ramsay, the pain, Ramsay’s girls, Jeyne, Jeyne Poole, taken by Stannis Baratheon, Asha, the Winter, the Walkers the Red Witch. Theon lost.  
Just a nightmare? His skin, hair, teeth, toes, fingers didn’t tell his pain from Ramsay anymore. Had it ever happened? How feverishly had he dreamt? Yet…  
Despair and confusion muddled his thoughts.  
“Have I honestly lived through all this misery?” Theon questioned himself. Nonetheless his mind boiled his blood and made him shudder at the same time.  
Maybe it was an unconscious nervosity before his arrival in Pyke. Shouldn’t he feel joyful anticipation at the thought to return to his place of birth? Why did he felt a certainty of his hopes to be proven false nagging on his expectations. Memories sank their teeth in another lost hope having risen when had looked at Pyke.  
A knock at the door pulled him away of the turmoil in which his hopes were spinning. “Mylord?”  
“Come in.” Theon sighed. Enter the captain’s daughter with a shy smile on her face, a bowl of steaming soup in her hands.  
So far she still acted modest. Pretty sure, you were quickly eager to suck my dick, Theon noted in his head Just not yet. Why did he know?  
An idea did come to his mind.  
... Theon forced an easy smile on himself. Muscles hurt a bit.  
“Ah, aren’t you a pleasure?” The blush spreading on her face felt undeserved to him. Forgot how easy she was.  
“Just leave it here Theon sighed. There was no fun in this. The captain’s daughter’s smile faltered but the put the bowl down close to his bed and hushed out the door.

∞

“Land at sight!” Finally!  
A sense of relief came over Theon. Finally, finally, he could be reassured.  
These days had been too long. His sleep had been unsettled. And when he woke up the dread of being fractured again took over him. But it dripped slowly off him. He took too much time counting fingers and toes in the morning before he went for breakfast. First I seemed impossible to Theon to eat wholesome meals. One morning the cook even served juicy bacon. First the thought of eating greasy meat, made his stomach flip – so Theon thought but when he brought a piece between his lips something carnal took over him. Luckily, Lord’s title shielded Theon from vocal malcontent of other’s. In fact, he wouldn’t have cared if anyone complained about the Prince of the Iron Isles wolfing down three plates of bacon and egg. When Theon had finished his meal his lips dripped from grease. A part of him basked in the feel of a full stomach.  
And yet Theon’d feared to throw up over a rich meal.  
Constantly images where overlapping in his mind, so vivid –contradicting his perception. He drew a conclusion.  
His mind was divided into half. The certainty of suspecting what might happen, and his reason telling him that nothing happened at all.  
This bizarre battle of his mind was different from the possible outcomes from his mistakes he had to fear in Ramsay’s presence. One wrong word, one clumsy gesture and fear had been painting various gruesome scenes, one more cruel and frightening than the ones before. But these were vague, not a weighing memory of clear emotion, defined shapes and colours, clashing with reality.  
All he needed to know if his predictions – a better word was not to known for these kind of feelings and visions – were coming true, to make sure he wasn’t going mad. Although, it wasn’t too common to be told about new events on the wide open sea…  
In order to distract himself from redundant game of image and doubt chasing each other in his head, he stepped on deck to wield his sword. So much easier when you have toes – you have all toes, he corrected himself. The first swing with a sword was… embarrassing. Theon’s body moved quicker than his mind.  
The mind can lie, the body can’t. A disorientated mind in a swift body.  
First he moved slowly, took easy swings, until he remembered consciously what he was doing, not his muscles only. As his mind was occupied with his body only, teaching himself what he thought he’d unlearnt. These lessons took so long the days thankfully passed by in a productive manner. The evenings Theon quietly took his meal, listened to the sailor’s chatters, or to the captain’s. It didn’t take much to make a seaman talk. Only a few remarks with emotive words and soon Theon knew all he needed know. Eventually with too many comments on trade arrangements between even the smallest harbours.  
The captain, though, seemed to take some pride in talking to the Prince of the Iron Isles. Apparently not fucking a man’s daughter could improve the relationship to them.  
For the captain’s daughter, Theon didn’t spend much thought about her becoming his companion. Not again. The last time he imagined to remember, her services distract him greatly from thinking of his father. 

Finally Pyke was in sight. Once he’d convinced himself he’d be welcomed with honour, the lost Prince returning. More likely the unsentimental Iron Men would not look up to him. “”too much of a Greenlander.”, too strange. Was he realistic, or too pessimistic? But there would be one sight revealing the truth.

While the ship took the last cours, Theon went under deck to pack his clothes. Carefully he hid Robb’s letter under his clothes. For the clothes he choose only a vest of leather, and a cloak in black held together by a golden fibula as only jewellery Theon dared to wear. A small voice in his head reminded him that Iron Men weren’t too keen on riches.

All prepared, dressed too modestly or a prince, Theon stepped back on deck. The captain’s daughter gave him a yearning look which Theon generously ignored. Instead Theon fixed his sight on the harbour. The whisper and nervous chatter of the sailors rose simultaneously with Theon’s feelings. Ships, longboats, in all lengths and strengths aligned to a fleet in the harbour of Pyke.  
Theon’s stomach dropped. He’d know about this. He couldn’t have known about this! Bu yes he had seen this sight before, before anyone from the mainland could’ve known.  
Certainty, the ultimate cementation of his sombre visions into inevitable events coming near. I’ve been here, Theon concluded with grim I’ve lived through all of this.  
And a crystal clear plan, a sudden struck of lighting struck in his mind.  
In front of Theon’s eyes he already saw himself how he would walk down the pier. The instance the anchor was let down Theon would walk down the footbridge, craning his neck to look out for an eventual committee to cheer at the sight of the last Greyjoy. With a last few formalities to the captain, Theon walked down the dock.  
Still, none awaited him, neither with a cheer nor smile, but Theon spotted a man in grey and grouchy expression. Aeron Greyjoy.  
As boy Theon remembered a jovial and loud man... until Theon should’ve not seen him. But he knew that his uncle had become stern, a man of his god, the god of the Iron Isles. First he had been disappointed by not seeing a friendly face yet... one can not remain he sae after he’d faced Gods and death. I myself have seen too much.  
Ignoring and being ignored by the people on the docks and the harbour, Theon walked straight to his uncle. He sat on a meagre horse. In his left hand he held the reigns on a mare with an empty saddle on it’s back. The grey eyes examined Theon the moment Aeron noticed the young man in black. A short spark lit up quickly but Theon spoke before Aeron could.  
“Uncle, how kind you welcome me.” Theon greeted Aeron dryly, barley looking at Aeron when he mounted on the horse with the empty saddle. Iron Men were none for frills, in particular Aeron Greyjoy.  
“Nephew.” Aerond greeted back. Surprisingly he seemed a bit taken aback by the brisk greeting. Theon pulled the reigns although not in the direction of Castle Pyke.  
“Bring me to my sister.” Theon demanded. At the imperative tone of his nephew’s Aeron frowned, not moving a any other muscle. “Your father awaits you.  
“He waited for ten years. Some hours longer won’t bother him either.” Nor does he anticipate my arrival.  
Bewilderment bloomed on Aeron’s face. “Uncle, I would prefer to hurry. Also, I have to discuss something with you.”  
“Theon-“  
“It’s about uncle Euron.”  
No other name could make the stoic Aeron Greyjoy tremble slightly. Even Victarion Greyjoy, captain of the Iron Fleet, feared his brother. Even months in the future away the fear clawed on Theon’s shoulders.  
Aeron’s lips were pressed to a thin line. Without another word, Aeron pulled the reigns, opposite to Castle Pyke. So did Theon. His mare blow softly his nostrils a bit nonetheless it began to trot after Theon smoothly brushed it’s mane. With a slight pressure of his heels, Theon directed his mare to trot quickly to catch up with Aeron’s nag.  
“we heard some strange and worrisome news in Seagard.” Theon began his speech without much furtherado. “Dragon eggs hatched in the East.” Aeron’s snort wasn’t a nice answer nonetheless it was (a form of) an answer. “The last heir of the Targaryens, Daenerys Stormborn, commands them.“  
“And you’re one to believe in fishermen’s talk?” Aeron huffed.  
“Well, you believe in the drowned God.” Theon jabbed.  
That was a sensitive nerve Theon touched upon; he needed to be careful now. If there was one thing he was good at, it was lying. How many women had forgotten their vows of marriage or chastity with sweet words and a bit of acting. I’m such a good liar, I even lied to myself I could be broken by a monster in human skin.  
“Believe in what I see!” Theon explained briskly. And I saw you drowned by Euron’s hand. More and more water poured into your lungs. Your god couldn’t save you, you, the most devoted of his believers. He’d seen what other’s had thought of as children’s nightmare, a Red witch, Euron laughing so loudly ice cracked.  
“The glass candle in the Citadel is burning again. The Watchers at the Wall are troubled from too many Men disappearing in the North, and unusual cold. They suspect sinister creatures.”  
“Grumpkins and snarks.”  
Theon gave his uncle a sharp look. “The entire Wall, including Jeor Mormont? Don’t ridicule yourself.”  
Red spots spread on Aeron’s cheeks. He gritted his teeth while his thumb rubbed the reigns with hard pressure. “Did you come the entire way to mock me?”  
Theon shook his head, the wind combing through his hair. “I want to warn you. The Iron Isles are the end of the World, so you don’t hear about important matters soon enough.” If there was anyone believing Theon, it might be Aeron. “What we hear in Eastern harbours sounds like hogwash nevertheless the tales are too frequent, and too dark to ignore. The Crow’s Eye is plundering more frequently than before, and...” for a heartbeat Theon forgot to breathe I’ve something pretty to show you, dear nephew Theon’s skin prickled, and the porridge from the morning lay heavy in his stomach. Against the pressure in his throat he continued on talking. “His route can be followed down the Step Stones to Dorne closer and closer. Perhaps even here you heard what they say about him: Bastards, scum, magicians. Whatever he plans, he brings no luck to the land he conquers, and certainly not to the Iron Isles.”  
For a while Aeron said nothing but starred on the road, grouchy. The silence was straining as Theon didn’t know what his uncle would make out of it.  
“What...” Aeron spoke slowly “What is the purpose of you telling me these rumours? You father is Lord Reaper of Pyke, not me.”  
“Do you think he will listen to rumours only?” Theon objected “I may not be following the Drowned God but I sure know that many things other people consider old tales, are in fact true. And often they’re even more gruesome than the wet nurse tales. What I’ve seen, uncle, sound unbelievable but believe in my word that a Storm is coming. Father won’t listen to me as he barely knows me but he’ll certainly listen to your conciliation.”  
Again Aeron seemed to have swallowed his own tongue. During the steady pace of his horse’s trot Aeron frowned, blinked as he would think very hard about something. Then he closed his eyes, exhaled deeply while Theon stood next to him thinking this conversation was more surreal than the confusing state he was in. A bit at loss with his uncommunicative uncle, Theon took a deep breath himself. The icy desert of Winter had been more populated than Pyke itself. Barely away from the harbour, Theon barely held sight of a land of stone and grass. Few huts like dark spots stoot out at the horizon, always with the faint growl of the sea as accustical company. Beneath him his horse carried him to wherever his sister might be. All dressed in black and telling weird news, Theon felt it would have been more appropriate if he’d woken up as raven.  
Loudly exhaling Aeron made himself noticeable again. A sound as if he broke from the surface of water. His shaggy hair looked like cloud tumbling over each other but his eyes were shockingly blue and clear when he looked at some one. At moment Aeron began to speak, goosebumps shot over Theon’s skin. “Theon” the red leaves whispered. A voice grave as seep from the ocean came up from Aeron’s throat.  
“here is something strange about you nephew... the water in you is...” Aeron huffed, shaking his head. Gradually his voice subsided to the normal tone. “Like the ocean raining to the sky...” Aeron mumbled. Theon himself sat bewildered witnessing how his uncle mumbled incoherent things of “whispers of waves” and other things making Theon question if the sigh of a dragon and the White Walkers was more plausible than the preaches of Aeron Greyjoy.  
The rest of the rise Aeron side eyed Theon whereas Theon tried to stay as composed as possible under strange descriptions of being “inverted rain” and weird looks. The ride seemed to stretch unnecessarily long. Theon felt relieved at the sound of faint clatter of metal and seeing the ground dissolving in sand.  
“What you say” Aeron said out of the sudden “sounds afar but... the ocean’s and all rivers are connected to each other. I am not certain to trust your word but the sounds of sea are strange as well. You father feared you grew soft in the Greenlands but-“  
“As long as you consider my words... I do not intend to stay, neither do I wish to be noticed by too many people.”  
Aeron shrugged and held his horse in front of a beach. “Here she is.”

How lucky he was. For once I could be.  
In the sand men in hardened leather and light iron around their arms and chest, hitting each other with blunt swords, spears, and axes. All under surveillance of a man with bulky shoulders and a split lip. Dagmer Cleftjaw.  
He turned, his lip looking as scary as it had ever looked, eyes as warm as a father’s should be.  
You died, Theon thought while heart cramped under the weight of his guilt just because of my boisterousness. May the gods help me, you might be fall for that cause again.  
Their arrival didn’t go unnoticed. Some fighters ceased their training. Dagmer yelled at those “lazy dogs!” but their respect for Damphair, and their curiosity for the stranger all in black was stronger than Dagmer’s short anger at them.  
Their stares made Theon uncomfortable. He had wanted to draw as little attention as possible. Perhaps going on horseback hadn’t been the greatest mean to appear unnoticed.  
Especially not in the moment a women in leather waistcoat with the broidery of a golden kraken on the back gave the final blow to her sparring partner, and turned around. She followed the gaze of the men. A grin spread wide and bright over her face.  
Asha!  
If Theon’s heart hadn’t shrunk of shame and sadness, it surely did now. Her last words to him were said in a false although genuinely comforting smile. How much shame he had felt in this moment. How could he have ever doubted her love for him?  
They were one and the same, Asha and Theon, the last children of House Greyjoy. Once he had felt envy for the respect she received, thought less of her because she was a daughter not a son. An intruder in his heritage.  
But Theon had been blinded by his arrogance, so blind. They were not so different, not in their essence at least.  
Asha’s smiles could were wild and capturing as Theon’s – and equally dishonest.  
“Who’s that ill-humoured crow next to you, uncle?”, Asha smirked. By the way she narrowed her eyes when she looked at him, they way her body tensed like a bloodhound on prey, she knew who he was.  
Theon swung down from his horse. “I need to talk to you.” he said briskly.  
Asha’s grin grew only wider, baring her canine teeth. All the men laid down their weapons, eyeing the scene between the stranger dressed in dark and their princess. Dagmer joined their curios looks but his expression fell. No surprise. Cleftjaw had been the one putting a sword in Theon’s hands when the youngest Greyjoy could barely walk.  
“Princess Asha-“ he began but Asha raised a finger to command silence. Her hand fell and she raised her other with stell in her hand.  
“Aaand” Asha sneered “who are you to talk to me like a servant?” She disliked him talking down to her, how easily he forgot.  
“Mylady” Theon pressed under his teeth “it is an urgent matter.”  
“So urgent you need to disrespect the heir of Balon Greyjoy?”  
She tried to provoke. Once she might have succeeded but not anymore.  
Still Asha complicated things even more. The men didn’t need to know who he was, the less people knew about him, the better.  
“I need to-“  
“You interrupted the sparring, something that needed to be done as well. If you need to talk to me so urgently-“  
“Enough!” Aeron Greyjoy descended from his horse. His face had finally gained colour by the red patches in his face. “Leave the childish quarrels, niece. Listen to him!”  
With these words Asha let her raised arm drop, so did her playful expression. Almost like a scolded child she pressed her lips together, looking up to Theon from a side-glance. Theon gave her a little wave to lead the direction. Passing Damphair, Theon gave him a nod.  
The gesture seemed to tell something to Asha.With a last look over her shoulder she made a hand sign to Cleftjaw.  
He yelled to the fighters again. Soon the sound of metal clashing against metal and strained grunts sounded in the wind.

Theon stopped behind a small dune covered in heather. The wind brought the faint sparring noises and pulled on their clothes and hair.  
Asha’s hair was way shorter than in winter. She couldn’t have cut it even though it had been impractical in battle. The lines of sorrow weren’t craved in her front and around her mouth yet. Winter had eaten up her muscles and any signs of being well fed, too. With their cheecks so hollow, her eyes so concerned Asha Greyjoy did only inherit the sharp and seductive lines of the Greyjoy blood but the elegance of her Lady mother Alanyss Harlaw.  
In leather and trousers, wearing steel by her side she looked as Asha Greyjoy should look like. Courageous, proud, the best and the worst of the Iron Islands.  
And Theon fell into her arms, slinging his around her shoulders. Burying his face into the nape of her neck. Inhaling the scent of salt, sweat and the unique scent of her skin. How warm and strong Asha felt to him.  
And only the Gods knew the pain when he lost her.  
“I missed you. You don’t know how much I miss you.” Theon said. There was just them.  
Unusually carefull Asha slid her hands between her and her little brother, breaking the embrace without force.  
The harsh ways of the Iron born were different from the softening Greenlander ways – Giving in sentimentality wasn’t her way to act after. Beneath all iron, steel and leather, under skin, flesh and bones Asha’s heart was even more beautiful than her face.  
When she talked to him, her lips quivered, the strong façade of her strong posture crumbled a bit.  
“I…” she responded, a bit slower with her wit than usual “…ten years are a long time… B-But I’m g-glad to see you as well. Maybe a bit.. too much. Is that a Greenland custom?”  
“Oh, I am just relieved to not see your zit face anymore. Luckily ten years made an improvement.” Theon replied, spontaneously. Unwillingly, he had to grin.  
Asha’s left corner of her mouth jerked upward. Then she let a little giggled out. “Gods”, she grinned “father feared you would’ve turned soft in the Greenlands. A few heartbeats ago I feared the North would have frozen the humor in you.”  
Not the North but Winter did. With eyes observing and curious eyes she tilted her head. “I suppose you didn’t took all the long way to Pyke just to insult me. How come I finally see you again?”  
The inevitable moment had come. What was to said now, should be said carefully told. To bad that neither diplomacy and thought-through strategy had never been particular strength’s of Theon’s. 

“I won’t join father’s raids. In fact is utterly stupid.” He announced straight out. Surprise bloomed brightly over Asha’s face. Before she could reply anything, Theon quickly fumbled out Robb’s letter out of his coat. “Here!”

The seal broken and folded in a small piece, the letter looked barely like a king’s writing. Indeed, Asha frowned upon the broken seem. Her frown craved deeper with each line she read. When finished reading her brows were only separated by the deep crease between them. In her eyes confusion and the suspicion of a conflict became visible.  
“What” she formulated calmly, too calmly “does it mean that you crush a message of such delicate political affairs like a dirty handkerchief? Robb Stark wrote directly to father, so why do I read it in his place.”  
“Because…” Theon answered, with similar preoccupation “…father won’t agree to his conditions.”  
Asha’s eyebrows shot up until they almost disappeared under their strands. “And I might? Theon- I am his heir, not Lady Reaper-“  
“I’m fully aware of your position.” Theon interrupted her “I would be above you in line of succession, and yet it is you wearing clothes of a man. Back at the beach I saw all the men listening to your command. They didn’t take any notice of me. You’re more Balon’s heir than I am.”  
Asha tried to say something but Theon went on his explanation. “What Robb Stark offers is the best compromise between what is wanted and what is needed.”  
“We need land. We need soil, Theon!” Asha interjected with a hint of impatience in her tone “In summer the harvest is statisfying enough to live on it for weeks but too thin to hope for surviving in Winter. What good does it bring to be an own kingdom without enough supply to feed it’s inhabitants?”  
Barely having spoken these words, shock about these showed in every muscle and single part of Asha’s face. In that moment she’d been speaking out the exactly same reason she fought against Euron. Asha only intended the best for the people. This was the opportunity.  
“So land is worth more than a crown?” Theon asked quietly. Asha tried to look anywhere else but into Theon’s eyes. She dropped her eyes to the ground. Within the last days before her death Asha had lain in fever Afraid of the threat of death and in delirium she’d been telling Theon so much: About her wishes for her people, her regrets, whom she would miss. These had been the most honest moments Theon’d ever shared- except for Robb maybe.  
If there was anything forcing Asha Greyjoy down to her knee, it was a touch upon her most hidden secrets. Balon’s orders were not only her king’s but he father’s orders as well. Deep down, and later when she would have to face the Crow’s Eye, she knew her father was deaf to reason – by the sound of an empty promise of glory.  
“The Irons Islands don’t need fame or their own king” Theon repeated Asha’s words he had heard in a deep blue nights, when the snow storm howled like a hurt wolf “we need land.”  
Theon switched to his own words. They came without complication. In fact they were the first vocal form of thoughts repeating in his head ever since Asha murmured deliriously about her anger on Euron, her fear for the Iron Isles. And Theon’s own thoughts on his father, then, dead and gone.  
“Balon Greyjoy is a fool to think he could conquest land and a crown. He does not only challenge the King of the North but that bastard Jeoffrey, Renly and Stannis Baratheon as well. The Lannisters will not tolerate an attack on their land neither will Robb. Ten years past and he’s no wiser to fight against the same forces having defeated him once before! Stannis Baratheon fights against the Lannisters and his brother for taking the crown he thinks of belonging to him. However he’s going to defeat, he dislikes Robb Stark for taking the North from the realm-“  
“Robb Stark doesn’t concern-“  
“Balon is like Robb to Stannis! He takes part of realm Stannis wants as a whole! To Stannis he’s a traitor as well. And he’ll be curse him-“  
A shrill laughter cut into Theon’s speech. Asha shook her head. “You can’t be serious. A curse? Are you-“  
Theon wasn’t to be stopped now. Asha had to believe him. There had to be some way to convince her, there had to be some way to turn the wheel in a different direction. Was there any chance to not take the steps to the path to misery?  
In despair Theon grabbed Asha by her shoulders. Under his grab she flinched, seemed alarmed. “Asha, please.” Theon tried to get his voice under control “I’m not fooling you, neither do I talk hogwash, even if it sounds like that. Listen to me: Renly Baratheon will die.  
He’ll die with his throat cut open. Nobody will know who actually killed him. Some will suspect Catelyn Stark, others blame a sworn knight of his, but everyone will mention a dark shadow. Something dark and magical. I’m aware, I sound crazy, I know. You heard the rumors about Stannis’ Red Priestess, right? All red, from Asshai.”  
All that rambling jumped to quickly from one point to another for Asha to make sense. She nodded on impulse as it was the only tangible thing.  
“So”, Theon continued to avoid having his flow of speech dried “we’re both children of seafarers. If anything else is hogwash, we know that the arts of Asshai are real!  
Stannis relies on the power of her Red God.” Fire flashed before his eyes. Theon shook his head. Cries. ü No time, he needed to go on.  
“He’ll curse his brother, then the Lannister-bastard, then out father, then… then Robb. They’ll die too soon.”  
The thought made him shiver. If he were Asha, he would think he were odd. But Theon had seen the craze of the Red God, that horrifying Red woman believing she would lead to light.  
The Red Witch wasn’t a threat yet but their father’s madness, Theon needed to remind himself.  
“The Iron Islands need land, and Balon Greyjoy intends to take it with war and conquest. Whatever he’s going to do he will have more foes than success. The war will eat away supplies, gold, and lives. All that could have better use when winter is here. What will land serve if the soil is frozen? Can the Iron Men hold it against the Baratheons, the Lannisters and the North altogether? Balon will fail in every case, for any reason he wants to lead this lost case.  
I beg you Asha, we both know our father is about to loose.  
Stay on the Isles, stay out of the war, he Islands stay unharmed. No curse shall lay upon Balon.  
Join Robb Stark, and I swear to you, you shall find a compromise. I swear, I swear by my name, he’s good, a man of honour.” The only one showing kindness to me when nobody else was. “His word is good.”  
Except when it comes to fucking – that’s another problem I’ve to solve. It didn’t happen yet, so it isn’t a lie.  
“Balon Greyjoy won’t change his mind but you, you are by chance the only one I can trust to decide wisely.”

The seagulls cried, the waves crushed one over another. In the bleak light Asha’s skin looked pale against her black hair.  
Her stormblue eyes were unreadable. In the time Theon tried to persuade his sister, ha had let go of her shoulders. They stood face to face till Asha suddenly jumped. Sharp steel in her hand, almost too quickly for Theon to react. At impulse he stepped back. All of the sudden her eyes had turned grey like clouds.  
While she spoke she stepped in sure and silent mamner, like a cat, circling him. “Why?” she asked quietly “Ten years ago you were taken a hostage. The wolves are not your friends. You are a Greyjoy by blood. How can you come back, conspire behind our father’s back, and ask me to bow down to the son of the man who took my brother away?”  
The steel trembled when she went on talking, so did her voice even though she tried to remain steady “Why are you not...”  
Theon suddenly understood. Guarded Theon raised his index finger and tapped the end of Asha’s sword to the side. No resistance although her lips began to tremble.  
The Greyjoy siblings were so similar to each other. Iron, sea, and salt is supposed to pump through our veins still we are wounded too easily when we stab our soul.  
Ramsay taught me how to fight my sister by demonstrating the weapon on myself.  
Theon met his sister’s eyes.  
“When I arrived” Theon said barely audible over the sounds surrounding them “ravens already have reached the Captain’s of the Iron Isles – before he even learnt about Robb Stark’s offer.  
He prepared for battle before he was given an incentive to. And we both know what it means for me if he acts in military manner as long as I am ward of the North. Nevertheless my own father chooses a crown over his last son. I am Greyjoy only by name.  
I am a Prince without a realm, without heritage, without my father’s blessing.  
The only one welcoming me is Robb.”  
A deep sigh ran up from Asha’s belly, up her throat at the same time she dropped her sword still did not look at him but at the heather. She remained motionless with the wind tousled her hair and the heather under her boots, on the dunes around them.  
No reply, no counter, no motion to give a hint of her thoughts. For Theon, he thought he did all he had needed to do. He turned away, crushing the heather under his feet.  
“Theon!” Asha called his name.. Turning around he saw her looking straight to him. “Why are you telling this to me?”  
“Told you…” Theon gave her a wiry grin “you’re the only sane of our mob.”  
“Why?” she yelled against the wind. For a moment Theon paused.  
“There’s only Robb who truly ever loved me. And you and our lady mother.” “Why haven’t you gone to her?” Asha asked, the cold petrifying her fingers “Her mind went away with your departure.”  
“When Winter comes, these bonds are the only remaining currency.” That said Theon turned back to the beach, to the sparring men. He needed to get on with his plans. If he failed in Pyke he needed to succeed at least in North.  
“Theon!” Asha shouted again. This time she was a dark figure in the dunes as he turned to her voice “Where will you go?”  
“Need to find Dagmer!” Theon shouted back.” We need to buy a horse!”


End file.
